Just don't quite get it.. working out how to break into a new room where it will continue what happened in the first. Someone stands up and figures it out.. and you want to say "yea you got it" but those words must exist in a new way if you want them to understand. Always new... when what you had in the first place wasn't anything new or old... fresh or repetitive... it was simply what happened, another thing that came from nowhere and ended up flat on it's face in front of nobody....

...so when it is in front of everybody someone has to be satisfied? There could be a reminder... a flash from the past - anything to show them all what they had been missing these past few years... but that would be ridiculous.. wouldn't it?

So bang out a few heavy one liners and warm them up for a big one... who knows if they will last longer than a week... who cares. Lets just see what the world provides my battered skull.


I was reading Rene de Chateaubriand's account of finding the lost ruins of Sparta on his travels into the east. Everything was forgotten then, only remembered in books and in the minds of the local people. People who did not care about these trivial things that did not apply to their day to day lives. These ruins were alone with the silent landscape. But to Rene the world was alive with history, suddenly salvaged from a deep hazey sea of history. Every stone and outcrop made sense to him. The positions of the rivers.. the natural landscape and the buildings that would have typically been best suited to them; the temples, the palace, the amphitheatre and so on. There was a sadness too that such a great thing could fall into this abyss. Around him there was nothing.
One wonders if the existence of out things is even worth it. A "thing" can mean so much to one person, one nation, civilisation, one animal.... and so little to anything else. We try to immortalise ourselves within them ... put our name upon them and hope that even as we decay someone will create associations and we will be remembered....

....I saw a great building upon a hill on my way out of Rome. Travelling on a bus to travel once more on a plane. Watching a landscape dotted with reminders of the mediterranean; slender pointed trees, fruits and vegetables growing on hillsides... they were passing me by and I struggled to remember them before there was nothing left but clouds and city streets. And then this great building, a reminder itself of what had been before, perched on the crest of a hill... watching over Rome, waiting for me. And then I was gone.. struggling to see more but the speed of life took me away... as if tempting me to return. And my mind was melted as we passed by yet more ruins.. dotted like the plants and the fruit trees across the landscape.. not moving... only the wind pushing varying shapes in the grass around them... sad bones of another time.. passing me by. And as i sit in the sun waiting for a plane to take me away I can only look over the one picture I could get, and imagine the feel of the bricks... the silence on that hillside.. with a low hum of buses whizzing by, and young dreamers on board - open-mouthed.

What is the story of this place... someday i will return to find out.. and my soul will be at ease... ready to create something nobody wants to hear.